Introspective
by lilidelafield
Summary: Part of the WHAT IF...? Challenge series from Section VII. The prompt was; "Napoleon sometimes intimidates the Russian with his superior intellect. Illya often annoys his partner by being a typical blond." What more need I say?


**_WHAT IF….?_**

 ** _Napoleon sometimes intimidates the Russian with his superior intellect. Illya often annoys his partner by being a typical blond._**

 **INTROSPECTIVE**

Illya Kuryakin frowned into his coffee, unsettled and dissatisfied, trying to work out why. He had just been cleared by psychiatric after yet another spell as a prisoner of THRUSH.

Ever since Illya was assigned to the New York office, he had been determined to remain loyal to his chosen path.

He had confidence in his own intelligence. He had studied sciences and languages, he had PHDs in two or three subjects, and he knew what was what. He was also a crack shot with any sort of firearm. He had broken several of Napoleon Solo's records at Survival School, but none of it had prevented him from being singled out as the enemy, simply because of the accident of his birth. Being Russian was bad. Being a Russian who was a crack short with a pistol was very bad. Being an _intelligent_ , crack shot Russian made him an enemy who would show his true colours given enough time.

When he learned that he was being assigned to New York, rather than back to Moscow, he knew he had to take drastic steps. Fool them all. He was good at acting. If they were intimidated by a smart Russian, then he would play dumb for them. He grew his hair rather longer than the regulation length, perfected his shy smile technique and won the hearts of all the women.

At first it _was_ an act, but as time wore on, he realized how much he enjoyed playing on their sympathies, showing off his prowess in the gym, and each time he was hurt in the field, he enjoyed the attention he received, and played on it as much as he could.

If he thought about the effect his actions were having upon his partner, Napoleon, it was to smile at the sour looks Solo occasionally threw in his direction. Solo was the suave, debonair sort that women loved, but Illya was the shy, sweet little boy type that made them want to take care of him, and that suited Illya down to the ground. He was not interested in marriage, or any kind of permanent relationships with them. He simply enjoyed their company, and the way their adoration very neatly redirected people's attentions away from his nationality.

He had never hidden his intelligence under any sort of bushel, but to endeavor to remove the threat, he had contrived to add to it a certain level of buffoonery. To be, to all intents and purposes, a _dumb_ blond.

Illya was aware that very smart people frequently made foolish errors because of their habit of making use of mental `short cuts'. He had even made a rudimentary study of the phenomenon in the past in order to avoid falling into the same trap himself.

The one thing he had not reckoned on was Napoleon Solo.

Napoleon Solo seemed to be everything he was himself, and then some. In fact, the only thing he had which Napoleon did not, apart from his mouthful of languages, was a nationality that was generally despised by others.

Napoleon had not quite the same broad base of learning that he had had, but his intelligence was daunting, even to Illya. Working side by side with Napoleon, he often found himself slightly intimidated by his partner's quick-mindedness, feeling more than ever like the `dumb blond' stereotype that he had apparently fallen into.

Napoleon always came up with the clever plans to defeat or foil their enemies. Illya was almost always the bait, frequently doomed to be captured and then rescued by the ever-resourceful Napoleon.

Was he truly a male version of a dumb blond?

Illya swallowed the rest of his coffee and looked around the room at Heather and Lisa and Wanda and the rest, whom he knew would jump at the chance of a date with him; and then at Mark Slate, Gordon Niles and Simon Harker who seemed to respect him largely on the strength of his frosty glare; but otherwise directed all appeals for advice or information to Napoleon. Never to himself. They all seemed to think he was a dumb blond. Were they correct?

Was he truly acting, after all?


End file.
